


Losing

by Manysidesofmyself



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Blood Play, Bottom!Lock, Danger Kink, Knife Play, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sherlock's POV, assassin!Sherlock, breath play, dark!Sherlock, hitman!lock, inner monologue, they have never met before
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-04
Updated: 2015-03-04
Packaged: 2018-03-16 09:04:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3482414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Manysidesofmyself/pseuds/Manysidesofmyself
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I don’t like losing. And when I say I don’t like it, it doesn’t mean it upsets me. It means I’d kill, just to win.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Losing

**Author's Note:**

> ONESHOT  
> I do not own any of the characters, just the plot.  
> Be careful though, if dark characters trigger you. Read the tags first!!

 

As he approaches the mirror I smile soulfully, expectant. He’s comfortable in his room, relaxed even. Oblivious to the fact that he’s being watched.

I squeeze the hilt of the knife until my knuckles turn white. I’m greedy. The blood feels cold in my veins as it always does when I’m doing this. My heart is beating stably, controlled. I’m in control. Nervousness doesn’t suit me, I’ve planned this. I can predict his every move. I’ve been watching him long enough, nothing will go wrong.

I’m here to slide the knife through his neck and finish the job. I prefer knives because guns are messy and distant. I like intimacy. I enjoy the sight of hot flesh against cold steel; thick blood sliding down unmarked skin.

So I move forward and position myself behind him, blade firmly pressed against his jugular. It's awkward because he's smaller, but I've done this before. There’s a sharp intake of breath, but I’m not sure to which of us it belongs. I look in the mirror right into his eyes and my heart pounds frantically. It’s unusual.

I’ve seen pleading eyes before. I’ve seen desperation and vivid fear. But the moment he sees me his eyes become transparent. Not colorless. But it’s as if I can see through the ocean blue orbs and into his soul. He’s so innocent. I want to shake my head to wipe the thought, but I don’t want him thinking I’m reconsidering. I’m not.

“Look... I don't know what you want but I didn't do anything-” he stammers and I press the cold steel closer to his veins. He freezes.

“It doesn’t matter what you did. I’m not here to judge, I’m here to _execute_.”

His entire form trembles with the words and I’m delighted. Most of my victims try to fight back. They have the illusion that I can be convinced otherwise. Once they see it’s not an option, they fight back.

“Please... I didnt...” his navy blue eyes are watery now.

I press the knife even firmer, drawing a little blood and he stops.

“There’s no use pleading.” I assure him.

Something in the twitch of his lips, something in the way his cheeks flush and the tears run through the pink flesh makes my stomach lurch. I want to see more flesh. The blade slides down his neck to meet the first button of his shirt. He gasps. There are no words left in his tongue so he simply watches through the mirror when the blade lets the button lose and we hear a small “clinck” when it hits the wooden floor.

His chest rises and falls with his erratic breathing, drawing my eyes to the caramel skin revealing itself under the shirt. It looks... _soft._ My free hand is holding his left arm bent behind his back. I force it up just to see his eyes squeeze shut and tears anew run down the flushed cheeks.

“Please... God... let me live!” he cries and it doesn’t take away my pleasure. If anything, it makes me feel even more euphoric.

Now I have his shirt fully opened. Rigid chest and flat stomach are a surprise. He’s not the athletic type, but I like it. He watches me through the mirror and I can feel, more then see, the confusion in his tensed shoulders and parted lips. But there’s something more. Something I cannot name yet.

I feel a sharp pang of disgust for myself and remember that’s not why I’m here. He’s a target, he’s my prey, not something to be watched. So I resume the long stare I’m giving his bare flesh and bring back the knife to his neck. I convince myself that the reason why I’m staring is because I long to see him covered in his own blood, because I’m imagining it right now.

I opened the shirt so I could see the blood flow down his skin once I’m done with him. No other reason. At least it’s what I tell myself. I’m in control. Yes, control. _I have it_.

Everything happens fast then. He swirls around and the shirt rips off of his arms. I wasn’t expecting it so he’s free in seconds and I’m left holding the knife in the air, my reflexion gazing back at me expectantly from the mirror.

“FUCK!” I curse, because I don’t wanna do this the hard way. I don’t wanna use the gun that’s hidden in waistband of my trousers.

What surprises me even more is that he doesn’t move at all. He’s just waiting, hands in the air and huge blue-eyes blinking fearfully at me. I take a step forward and he immediately retreats.

“See...” I sigh heavily and motion for the gun. “I don’t like losing. And when I say I don’t like it, it doesn’t mean it upsets me. It means I’d kill, just to win” I offer him my predatory smile and he winces.

“No, please... please I swear I won’t tell anyone... you can go... I won’t even call the police just...” he begs and I take advantage of his distraction to grab him by the neck and throw him on the double bed, that the only other furniture in the room apart form the mirror.

I pinch the bridge of my nose and exhale sharply. I’m losing my patience. I shouldn’t have delayed it.

“It doesn’t work like that...” I try to explain. It’s useless. They always beg for their lives. Idiots.

He’s trembling furiously now and it makes me calmer. I like it when they’re desperate, when they understand there’s nothing left to be done. No crying, no pleading, no praying.

I crawl over him to stop a second endeavor of escape and he stays very still. The knife is back at his throat in a matter of seconds and he draws his head back into the mattress to avoid it. I grin at his coward attempt. He’s shirtless and it gives me free access to his smooth chest. I make the blade dance across it, causing his skin to break in gooseflesh. It’s endearing.

“Oh Jesus...” he cries as if there is some salvation, as if some superior force could sweep me away and let him carry on with his miserable life. Life isn’t worth the fight. Not his anyway.

I notice the way he responds to the contact with the knife and suddenly I picture myself strangling him. I wonder if he would like it better, so I decide I don’t want to use the knife anymore, I want to kill him with my bare hands. Feel his veins pulsing beneath my palms, see the hope leaving his deep blue eyes while he gasps for air.

So I place the knife beside me on the bed, careful as to not make him notice it. He’s still shaking and crying and those lovely goosebumps haven’t left his skin. I love the sight of my new prey. Perhaps I should start collecting pictures so I can look at them later and... _What_? No!

Preys are not to be pretty, they’re to be killed. I can’t help but skim my hands over his bare chest. He flinches at first, but when he realizes I’m using my hands and not the blade, he relaxes. As if this is over. I decide to lead him on. If he wants to think his death can be delayed, avoided even, I’ll let him. More fun for me, really.

I shouldn’t be taking this long to finish it. I never do.

My hands smooth the caramel skin around his neck and I press in ever so gently. He opens his eyes just a fraction, to watch me. I feel his adam’s apple bob up and down. It gives me a strange tingle in the gut. Only then do I notice his body pressed against mine. My sensors are slower, I’m prickling all over. I shake my head slightly and resume my intent of choking him. He seems to notice and places both hands on mine in a manner of appease. There’s nothing to placate here, there’s no escape.

He mumbles something unintelligible and I try my best to ignore it. There’s no pleading anymore, his fate is decided. I put my hand back at his throat and he writhes. It’s such a pretty sight I want it recorded. I wanna hear his whimpers and desperate cries as I kill him for as long as I can after this. He’s moving beneath me, readjusting himself and I press my hands even tighter around his neck. He’s breathless already, caramel skin flushed pink.

I lean in, I want to hear his strangled breath. But he opens his eyes and they’re dark. So dark, the blue iris are barely visible. He mumbles again and this time, for no reason, I want to know what it is. I come closer and he murmurs one more time, very distinguishably. He’s _begging_.

“No use begging, you already know that.”

But he doesn’t listen to me, his eyes are fogged and glistening. There’s something odd about it. He shouldn’t be this breathless, it’s too soon and I’m not squeezing that tight. I feel his heart racing under my arms. Suddenly, I feel vulnerable, I don't like the way things are changing, so I grab the knife and place it back to his throat. He whines, but it doesn’t scare him. It’s not a surprise. Before I realize, the whole extent of my body is pressed against his and it feels... _good._ I can feel his skin hot and vibrating under mine. I can feel his hammering heart and his warm breath against my lips. I shouldn’t be this close.

“Please, please...” he’s whispering now, completely breathless.

I shake my head minutely to try and vanish these stupid ideas. This game is taking too long and now my resolve is melting away. His lips look so soft from a close up. They look... NO! I move away from his chest and sit on my heels, legs straddling his body and that’s when I feel it. He’s squirming and moaning and writhing because he’s _hard_. How could I’ve missed it? How did I failed to see it before? And as if a wave of lava has been poured onto me, I’m feeling unbearably warm and realize belatedly that I’m also aroused by this. I want this prey. I want my prey. I want  _him._ And he wants me.

This shouldn’t be happening... this... but.. I feel myself trembling, I hear the short intakes of breath and they’re mine too. He’s moving under me, he’s pressing his erection harder into my buttocks and it feels delicious. I’m falling down. This can’t be happening. I’m losing my mind in a haze of desire. _NO, KILL HIM, GET OUT, MOVE AWAY!_  my mind screams, but my hips are circling around his hard cock and I feel like I’m melting away.

His hands are on my waist and I let him. I let him guide my movements as he wishes. My hands are pressing down on his throat and he’s enjoying it. _Definitely_ enjoying it.

“Oh God... yes... please...” he begs and now I understand he’s not begging for his life, he just wants more. He wants my hands pressed firmer around his neck, he likes the danger in all of this. He enjoys the adrenaline running through his veins as much as I do. But he’s my prey and I’m the hunter. He shouldn’t be aroused. I don’t know why, but this thought arouses me even more and I’m moaning quietly, unable to restrain myself. It feels so good to be in command, to hear him whimpering, because I’m on top of him. I’m threatening his life with my bare hands and he likes it, loves it.

“Yes... yes...” he’s repeating incoherently while I move. There are too many layers between us... I want to take them off, I wanna rip his clothes off, but this isn’t right! It can’t be!

“I want... _you_...” he pleads, shaking from head to toe. “...please...”

I can’t form coherent words, I can’t answer him. the waves of desire course through me violently. It must be a trick... it has to be, how could anyone be aroused by eminent death? And I bask in the feeling of owning, controlling, possessing him. But no, I shouldn’t be having these thoughts, I should be killing him, slicing him open and ending his life. Why am I so affected by his scent, his heat, his skin on mine?

As I try to think coherently, his hands slide up to cup my clothed erection. When did I get this hard?

I feel more than hear him opening the zipper of my trousers and setting my aching cock free. It's bliss, but I should be pressing my hand harder, so I do it and it helps nothing. He's growling, I can feel the vibration in my fingers, he's whimpering and whining and moving under me, I'm going insane!

Fuck everything, I need to feel his hands on me, _everywhere_.

He's unbuttoning my shirt, but I don't have the time, so I just rip it open, throwing it to the floor, along with his ruined one. It's a mess and we're too breathless to let the blood flow where it's supposed to. I can't figure out who's undressing who, but we end up naked anyway and I'm still on top of him, only now I can _feel_ everything. His cock is rubbing against my perineum and it feels like heaven!

"God, I wanna fuck you, let me fuck you" he's babling and I don't want to... I'm in control here, I'll fuck him.

He's ruting against my arse, making otherworldly noises. How can someone be so fucking sexy when they were supposed to be getting murdered? I can't even find in myself the strength to go back to the killing. I just want him and I want him _inside_ me. What's wrong with me?

"yesyesfuckmeohgod" it's gibberish, I've become a complete lunatic, can't even say the words right.

His eyes are so dark I could lose myself in them. He sticks two finger in my mouth and I suck like my life is depending on it. The irony! Then I feel the wetness in my buttocks, he's leaking and I can't think of anything else other than his gigantic cock up my arse. Fucking me, splitting me in two.

He moves so he can rub those wet digits to my hole. We don't speak, just sensation, just madness. He's penetrating me slowly, infuruiatingly slowly, so I force myself down on his fingers. God, it feels so good already. _Touch me, please, just do anything._

His other hand reaches my left nipple and it's all can do not to scream. He's rbbing it, teasing me even more. I'm so close already, but I need him.

"For fuck's sake just do it!" It's more of a cry than an order. And he stops scissoring me.

"Are you sure...?"

"yesjustdoitplease" dammit my stupid body! It just needs and needs.

He grabs both my hands and put them back on his neck. Sometime along the way they moved to his cock. "Please, can you...?" _Oh fucking hot motherfucker_! Yes, of course I can, he wants me to choke him while he fucks me. I have never been this aroused my whole life.

My hands press hard against his neck and I feel his cock twitching. He positions it and I want to make it sink inside of me, but he's holding my hips. Why do it so solwly? God, I need this!

Then I feel it penetrating my body, it's way too big for me, but I like the pain, I love the burning and the stretch. With each inch he enters me, I squeeze his neck tighter. We're both moaning loudly, skin drentched in sweat. How did I end up here? What am I doing?

"justfuckmeyouarsehole" it's all I can say. And he does, lowering me until I feel his thighs under my arse. It's glorious, it's heaven, it's fucking insane!

"Fuck, you're so tight!" he croaks as his hips circle a little. I'm gonna cum. I know it won't last, so I don't wait for him and start moving. I start bobing up and down, fucking myself on his perfect cock. He's on the verge of tears, barely holding my hips and I'm squeezing his neck so tight, I wonder if he's still conscious.

I remember the knife and fumble for it. When I finally find it, I press it against the sore skin of his neck. He doesn't even notice it. I press harder, drawing blood. I can't help that the sight of it makes me even harder, so I lower myself and lick his delicious caramel-coloured skin. His blood tastes like iron and fear and arousal all together.

My legs start to fail me, they're shaking so much, I can barely move anymore, but there's no need, the sight before me is enough. With one last bob I cum untouched, spilling myself over his flat belly. He opens his eyes minutely and whatever he sees pushes him over the edge too. We're shaking, gasping for air, arching our backs, going to heaven and back down.

When the high is over, I feel wobbly and remember what I should have done. I get up, move away from his body. Nothing here is right. I should never have let my transport get the best of me, but something in this prey... something in the way he moves, the way he smells... makes me want more. I can't kill him now.

But that doesn't mean I can't have him.

 


End file.
